I knew this would become a thing....
Seriously this is a thing that I'll be poking at until it starts to look like an actual story with a plot and stuff.
Ketchikan Baseball Team and Grandstands, circa 1909 -- from 100 Years of Baseball in Ketchikan!
Another Barnstorming snippet
Hunter’s finishing his second lemonade when he hears them.
"Oh fuck…not again." Posey’s voice is hoarse. "You don’t see anything, do you?"
"What am I looking for? Is it Bum again?"
"It’s…different. It’s a thing. Black and yellow. Wings…oh God, it’s looking at me."
"Hold on…just hold on," Hunter hears Lincecum say.
What the hell? Hunter eases around the back of the grandstand, hoping they won’t see him. Posey’s leaning against one of the grandstand’s supports, his face gray under his tan.
"Can you make it?" Lincecum asks, gripping Posey’s shoulder. "Just a minute okay?"
"I think so. But hurry."
Hunter ducks around a grandstand support, but Lincecum’s headed in the opposite direction-toward the pile of their gear. This town might have a grandstand at their field, but they don’t have dugouts. All the visitors’ gear is out behind the third base line.
"Fuck," Posey mutters, covering his eyes with a hand. "Oh fuck…don’t."
Hunter stares at Posey in surprise. He’s usually so solid and steady; seeing him this afraid and unsettled is disturbing to say the least. Just as Hunter’s about to step out of the shadows and go to him, Lincecum returns, a bottle of something in his hands.
"Just a sip, Peach," he says, handing Posey the bottle.
"I know…I know." Posey takes a cautious sip. "But I can’t play if I keep seeing things."
"Put Theriot at third and have Pablo catch?"
"No, you know I won’t do that," Posey says even as Hunter thinks the same thing. Posey plays every day, even when, like today, they’re playing a double header.
"I’ll be fine, just give me another minute." Posey looks at the bottle in his hand and then takes another sip.
"It’s happening more often, isn’t it?"
"No, it’s just that…they’re worse. I’m learning to ignore the shadows, but these things are different. I fucking hate this," he adds with a scowl.
When Lincecum reaches out, slides an arm around Posey’s waist and pulls him close, Hunter backs away. He’d suspected that Posey and Lincecum were more than friends, but right now, he doesn’t care about that. What, or who, he wonders, is Posey seeing?
And, more importantly, why isn’t Hunter Seeing them?
crossposted from http://telesilla.dreamwidth.org/349352.html |
comments | you can comment at my DW using OpenID
Ketchikan Baseball Team and Grandstands, circa 1909 -- from 100 Years of Baseball in Ketchikan!
Another Barnstorming snippet
Hunter’s finishing his second lemonade when he hears them.
"Oh fuck…not again." Posey’s voice is hoarse. "You don’t see anything, do you?"
"What am I looking for? Is it Bum again?"
"It’s…different. It’s a thing. Black and yellow. Wings…oh God, it’s looking at me."
"Hold on…just hold on," Hunter hears Lincecum say.
What the hell? Hunter eases around the back of the grandstand, hoping they won’t see him. Posey’s leaning against one of the grandstand’s supports, his face gray under his tan.
"Can you make it?" Lincecum asks, gripping Posey’s shoulder. "Just a minute okay?"
"I think so. But hurry."
Hunter ducks around a grandstand support, but Lincecum’s headed in the opposite direction-toward the pile of their gear. This town might have a grandstand at their field, but they don’t have dugouts. All the visitors’ gear is out behind the third base line.
"Fuck," Posey mutters, covering his eyes with a hand. "Oh fuck…don’t."
Hunter stares at Posey in surprise. He’s usually so solid and steady; seeing him this afraid and unsettled is disturbing to say the least. Just as Hunter’s about to step out of the shadows and go to him, Lincecum returns, a bottle of something in his hands.
"Just a sip, Peach," he says, handing Posey the bottle.
"I know…I know." Posey takes a cautious sip. "But I can’t play if I keep seeing things."
"Put Theriot at third and have Pablo catch?"
"No, you know I won’t do that," Posey says even as Hunter thinks the same thing. Posey plays every day, even when, like today, they’re playing a double header.
"I’ll be fine, just give me another minute." Posey looks at the bottle in his hand and then takes another sip.
"It’s happening more often, isn’t it?"
"No, it’s just that…they’re worse. I’m learning to ignore the shadows, but these things are different. I fucking hate this," he adds with a scowl.
When Lincecum reaches out, slides an arm around Posey’s waist and pulls him close, Hunter backs away. He’d suspected that Posey and Lincecum were more than friends, but right now, he doesn’t care about that. What, or who, he wonders, is Posey seeing?
And, more importantly, why isn’t Hunter Seeing them?
crossposted from http://telesilla.dreamwidth.org/349352.html |
comments | you can comment at my DW using OpenID